Follow Up Question
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: Sam finds out what Dean did to try to save him. He's not pleased. *11x17 Red Meat Tag, trigger warning: discussion of suicide, one-shot for now*
_**Author's Note:**_ _So I have all the feels after that episode. Where do I even start? I got all the hurt!Sam I could've asked for, protective!Dean—the list goes on and on. So, here's my tag to the episode and hopefully it will measure up to what was a fantastic episode! Please enjoy._ _ **Spoilers for 11x17. Trigger warning: discussion of suicide. If this bothers you please do not read.**_

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" _If there's no one beside you_

 _When your soul embarks_

 _Then I'll follow you into the dark."_

— _Death Cab for Cutie, "I Will Follow You Into the Dark"_

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It's two days later, back at the bunker, while Dean is in the shower that Sam finds out the truth.

"No, thanks Michelle," Sam murmurs, trying to calm his erratically beating heart. His breath is coming in fits and the room is starting to spin, but he grips the wooden table with one hand and his brother's cellphone with the other. He forces himself to steady his breath and he slowly sits down. When he starts speaking again, he actually sounds almost normal, "I'll pass it on. Bye."

He slams the phone down on the table with a bit more force than necessary. Dean will be pissed if he cracks the screen—it's already been replaced twice this year due to various mishaps while hunting—but Sam can't bring himself to care.

"Sam?" Dean's out from the shower, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, a towel ruffling his still damp hair. With a careful gaze, his older brother assesses him, trying to figure out what has caused such a disturbance in Sam's demeanor, "You okay? You need more meds?"

"Michelle called." Sam's throat feels raw. He wants to scream, wants to cry. He knew that Dean did something—Dean's always made fucked up choices whenever Sam's life has been forfeit—but swallowing pills? Almost killing himself? That's just as bad as trying to make a deal.

"She okay?" Dean probes, coming to sit at the table and Sam nods. His brother, perplexed, continues, "So, you wanna tell me why you looked like she kicked your puppy—?"

Sam scoffs, the bile rising up in his system and he wants to scream, but all that he manages is a whisper, "How are you doing after swallowing all those pills?" He meets his brother's widened gaze and continues, "Does your chest hurt? Michelle said they had to restart your heart—"

"Sam—" Dean begins, hands open, tone placating, but Sam's had enough.

How many times do they have to go through this? One of them dies, only for the other to lose his mind—it's a vicious cycle, one that's caused them to almost damn the world before. Sam's death shouldn't mean Dean's as well. It's not supposed to work that way!

"When were you going to tell me?" Sam plows on, ignoring Dean's soft pleas to stop talking. He has to know what happened while he was out. He has to know how far his brother was willing to go—

"Sam, just—"

"When, Dean?" Sam growls and wouldn't John be proud of him? He's almost as ferocious as his father was when he was angered.

Dean's gaze darts to the floor, his voice becomes unnaturally soft, "I . . . wasn't planning on telling you."

And that's enough for the youngest Winchester to lose it. Rising from the chair, his fists clench and it takes all his willpower not to reach over and slug his big brother right across the face. Different responses swirl around his mind, all demanding to be voiced, but Sam can do is walk away.

He doesn't get too far before a hand tugs on his shoulder, "Sam, listen to me—"

"No!" Sam roars, facing his older brother once more. "You were going to kill yourself?"

Dean blanches, "What? No, Sam, I swear I wasn't—"

"Then, why did you take all those pills?"

"I was trying to save you!" Dean retorts, voice overpowering Sam's. The eldest Winchester grimaces as he forces himself to keep his gaze locked on his little brother's face. Softly, he confesses, "I was going to trade my life for yours. Billie—"

"The reaper?" Sam shouts, livid now, "Dean, how could you—?"

"What was I supposed to do?" Dean growls, hissing practically like the werewolves that almost killed Sam just two days earlier. He paces the floor, the frustration rolling off him in waves. "I thought you were dead and I—"

"You thought bringing me back for the cost of your life was okay?" Sam questions and slowly, Dean nods.

There's silence after that. Sam feels the fight drain out of him, replaced by bone weary exhaustion. Dimly, he realizes his wound hurts and absently checks to make sure the stiches are still in tact. They are and it's funny that the almost fatal wound on his body isn't the real problem here.

"Sammy, say something." Dean demands, eyes wide, voice pleading and Sam shakes his head.

"You can't die." Sam manages to say, shaking his head. "Not for me. Not because of me." He grips his brother's wrist. "Promise me, Dean."

"Sam, I—" Dean struggles, glances away and Sam knows he can't relent, not now, not after what almost happened.

"Promise me!" Sam shouts and Dean breaks free, shoving the youngest Winchester back so that he almost collides into another one of the library's tables.

"I can't do that!" Dean shakes his head quickly, refusing to look at Sam, refusing to acknowledge a world without Sam in it. "Don't ask me to do that."

Sam laughs, mirthlessly, "So that's it then? When I die, you die? You give up? You can't save me so you just—"

"What do you want me to do, Sam?" Dean challenges, voice low and deadly.

"I want you to live!" Sam retorts, as if it's the simplest request in the world. He crosses back to his brother's side and places his hands on his shoulders, reassuring Dean that, for the moment, he is here with him. Softly, he continues, "Whatever happens to me, I want you to live."

Dean doesn't say anything for the longest while. The silence hardens around them and when Dean steps away, Sam isn't sure if he's gotten his point across. Judging from the tension that bogs down his brother's movements, he hasn't.

"Dean—" He tries again only to be interrupted.

"You think it's so simple, don't you, Sammy?" His brother's voice is so light that Sam has to strain to hear it. Facing Sam, Dean's expression is grim, his lips in a thin line and all the color drained from his face. Dean takes a step towards him, "Just go on without you, huh? Just like that?"

"Dean—" Sam tries cautiously, but it's too late. In a split second, Dean's calm demeanor changes completely to one of rage.

"How am I supposed to go on when you're dead, Sam?" Dean snaps, stepping closer to his brother. "You aren't supposed to die!"

"And what?" Sam challenges, "You are?"

"Yes!" Dean snaps, "I'm the oldest and I'm supposed to die first!"

"Fine, so when that happens I can try to bring you back and if that fails, I can die too—"

Dean grips his brother's shirt, a mixture of fear and fury swirling around his eyes. He slams Sam's back against the back wall, anger winning out against his big brother instincts. Hissing, he orders, "Don't you dare, Sam. Don't you dare say that you can die—"

"Why?" Sam retorts, "It's what you did, right?"

"I was trying to save you—!"

"And one day you won't be able to!" Sam informs him, breaking free of his grasp, "So what then, Dean? You put the gun to your head and give up?"

"Yeah." Dean admits quietly. Then, starting at Sam's face, he repeats, "Yeah, that's what I'd do." He smiles wistfully, "You're all I have, Sammy. You're what I want to protect. If I failed—"

"You've never failed, Dean." Sam says, a grin tugging upwards at his lips. "You've never failed me once."

Dean scoffs, "Cold Oak—"

"Wasn't your fault," Sam completes, adding on, "How could it have been your fault? Dean, that was on Yellow Eyes and—"

"I just can't do it again, Sam." Dean interjects, words spoken as softly as a breeze. "Losing you is it for me. Maybe that's not what you want to hear, but it's the truth. There's no me without you."

"But Dean—"

"It's fucked up, I know," Dean admits with a sheepish smile, "But the way I see it, we either go out together or not at all. Personally, I'm leaning towards the latter."

Sam processes this. He wants to fight more, to get his brother to promise him not to do anything drastic should Sam die, but the youngest Winchester knows it's a hopeless fight. And, if he's being honest with himself, Sam isn't sure that he wouldn't resort to such desperate measures if Dean were dead.

So, here they are, at an impasse. Neither one willing to budge, neither one wanting to discuss it further.

"Well, I'm not planning on dying anytime soon," Sam finally manages, emotion clogging his throat, "So, I guess you can't redecorate my room just yet."

Surprise flashes for the briefest seconds over Dean's face before the eldest Winchester schools it into his telltale smirk, "Guess not, Sammy."

Soon, when he's fully recovered, he'll try to talk with Dean about this again. But for now, he'll settle for being in the bunker, his brother by his side.

"Come on," Dean grabs him by the elbow and begins to lead him towards the kitchen, "You need to take your pain meds."

Some things never change, Sam supposes. Dean will always try to take care of Sam, Sam will always try to take care of Dean—but somehow, between the two of them, they always manage to make it through.

And for now, that will have to be enough.

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 _ **Author's Note:**_ _I honestly don't know where this came from or if this is even any good really. I just let my mind wander and let the plot bunny dictate what to do. I hope you enjoyed though! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


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